


To Our Surprise

by Ambrosia



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-28
Updated: 2013-03-28
Packaged: 2017-12-06 19:12:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambrosia/pseuds/Ambrosia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even grown, the Starks sleep in the same bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Our Surprise

Even grown, the Starks sleep in one bed. 

For a time, it was because Winterfell was being rebuilt from the ashes it had been— bare structure to the fortress that had burned. There were few enough tents and makeshift buildings for five people, but they had to find space for nearly ten times that. That's what Sansa told herself, anyway, when only three rooms were finished and her people declared that she at least have a room all to herself, but then Arya and Jon and Bran and Rickon came creeping under her covers. 

And grown, they barely fit. 

Jon is entirely too dignified about it, but he is the size of their father by the time he and Arya both wander back from far-off places. Sansa suspects that he doesn't know his place in their family yet. Her mother had never been kind to him, and many say that she is an exact copy off Catelyn. 

That only got her into trouble with Lord Baelish, but that is behind her. 

But Arya has none of it. Arya, Sansa remembered, always favored Jon. 

And now that Robb is dead, Sansa does not have the heart to say a word about it. Jon is the only older brother she has left. 

As more rooms are built, they gradually move upward in the fortress. The main hall was one of the first things she set people working to— even without rooms to sleep in, at least having a sturdy roof and a hearth would suffice for the time being. Some of the stone of the hall was even still salvagable, that was a blessing. 

In the two years that it takes to rebuild Winterfell, they move up. Move up until they sleep in what had once been their Lord father's rooms. 

They manage that before winter comes, and that in itself is a blessing. 

Jon and Arya sleep side-by-side, always, two equals that mirror each movement, even in sleep. One night, Sansa remembered, Arya had told her all about how Jon and Arya had found each other again. Jon, from Winterfell, hiding from his attackers, and Arya from Pentos. They have to sleep in the same bed, Arya had said, because Jon did not sleep without it and Arya could not sleep without it. Jon was used to tight quarters at the wall, and Arya. 

Well, Arya did not say what Sansa suspected, but Sansa could tell. 

Arya never relaxed, even in sleep. There was a stillness in Arya that had not been there, before King's Landing. A stillness and a calm that was entirely foreign. 

But it seemed that having all the Starks in one bed helped. 

Sansa tried to be dignified about it, at least, being the Lady in the North, the Lady in Winterfell— Jon had rejected it immediately. But every morning she woke with Rickon— Rickon who was now Arya's age when their father had died, wrapped around her middle. He couldn't be closer if he tried. 

Bran was always on Jon's other side, Jon and Arya in the middle. 

But they slept that way. 

Sansa was not sure what they would do when any of them found a suitor— Jon was not celebate, she knew that well enough, but he never strayed from their bed at night. Whatever any of them did in that way, it stayed out of their bed, each of them returning well before dawn. 

And soon Sansa found that she could not sleep without them. 

Rumors started, of course. Sansa knew the moment that travelers searching for sanctuary from the cold came to her hall that there were rumors of the way that the Starks lived, in the North. 

If they only knew. 

All of them— each and every single one of the Starks have nightmares. Her nightmares are about Sweetrobin and Baelish. About Joff. That alone is enough to make her banish each and every rumor out of her mind. The Starks are not Lannisters, the world knows that. The world knows that the Starks were broken until they came again, always came again. And when the Winter faded, in however many years that they were not burried under twenty feet of snow, the Starks would be a force to be reckoned with. 

The Starks were strongest within Winterfell, and now? Now Sansa had her pack. Her pack was where she was strongest. 

It's where they were all strongest, even Arya. Arya, who was a stranger to her that would not speak the secrets that had built an iron wall between them. Not even to Jon. Not even to Bran. 

But Sansa knew. Sansa knew that Arya was different. Stronger. 

Strongest. 

But Arya did not know the court, she did not know the game. Sansa was the King, and Arya the Queen. 

But in their beds they huddled together. Less for warmth, more for peace. More to know that they were safe in their pack, that the world could not hurt them. The world would not hurt them, not in the North. 

And five Starks huddled in their Lord father's bed, and four Dire Wolves slept on the ground at their feet and grumbled about it. 


End file.
